


Rule of Thumb

by sakuraba



Category: Persona 5
Genre: BDSM, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Implied spoilers, M/M, Makeup Sex, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Sweet Sex, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 04:39:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11200605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuraba/pseuds/sakuraba
Summary: Akira gets into an insignificant fight with his boyfriend Goro and decides to have some fun with his cognitive doubles while things blow over. Palace Seven Akechi is extremely rough, toting a riding crop and a repertoire of insults; conversely, Sae's cognitive Akechi is very sweet and eager to please, jumping at the first glimmer of praise or opportunity to show off.Fun as messing around is, though, Akira is head over heels for the real deal, and at the end of the day he's more than enthusiastic about reminding him.(Inspired by a kinkmeme prompt; spoilers through 11/21)





	Rule of Thumb

**Author's Note:**

> please take this as the pinnacle of pwp -- by no means a shining display of characterization or narrative logic, haha. i'm excited to write some in-depth studies of these two and their relationship (if my friends don't notice i've posted this and string me up by my ankles first, hi guys), but this kinkmeme prompt happened to catch my eye before i could get there -- still, i hope it's enjoyable!!

_Whap._  
  
In his defense – as far as “revenge porn” goes, this has gotta be _way_ better than what most people have in mind.  
  
“Trash,” coos Akechi – or rather, coos the cognitive iteration thereof, the one currently impaling himself on Akira’s cock. _Impaling._ Akira winces; pretty violent word choice, huh, Kurusu? But then, it’s also the only one that seems to fit, given how hard and fast he’s pivoting up and down, and god that’s got to hurt, no matter how much lube they’d used he’s still so _tight_ and–  
  
The real Goro is… well, Akira isn’t really sure what he’s doing, honestly. Thumbing through papers in the park, maybe, or staying late at Sae’s office poring over case files. Anywhere but his usual spot under the lowlight in Leblanc, where chances of running into Akira are high. It had been a stupid argument, really – not that many fights could make the books after a gunshot to the head – but, well. A little fun never killed anyone, huh?  
  
_Whap._  
  
Well. Not yet, anyway.  
  
“Someone isn’t paying a-tten-tion,” Akechi says, a hollow sing-song undercutting the reprimand. He’s got that eerie look on his face, those empty eyes pairing with the slide of the riding crop down Akira’s chest in ways that make Akira’s dick twitch and pulse pick up. He's suddenly pointedly aware of the leather binding his wrists above his head.  
  
The crop is leather too, he’s fairly certain; the cognitive Akechi keeps running the tip over his chest and stomach, wide and heavy and prone to leaving _quite_ the trail of bruises in its wake. Akira must be covered in them, by now, a mosaic of jewel tones from the crop or from the cognition’s own teeth against his neck. Between that and the chafing against his wrists, he’s going to have a hell of a clean-up job to do when he gets back home.  
  
“Akechi,” he starts. His voice is raspy and desperate in his own ears, fairly choked out of him in a way that isn’t even mostly unpleasant; there’s no real danger, after all, and Akechi is tight and hot and _wet_ enough with all that fast-and-rough friction around him to drive him insane. But he’s cut off again; not by the crop on his chest, this time, but by a gloved hand smacking quick and hard across his face.  
  
The result is immediate. It snaps his head to the side, and it stings, and it _puts him in his place_ so quickly and effectively that a moan spills from his throat immediately.  
  
“Oh, does our dear _disgusting_ leader need my hands on him to get off?” Akechi says. The leather of his gloves is terribly soft from use; Akira feels it around his neck as Akechi slides his hands down, rubs his thumbs in circles against his pulse point. “Here’s an idea I’ve just come up with – why don’t you act befitting of your station and _beg_?”  
  
“Please,” Akira says. He’s pointedly away of Akechi’s fingers, firm and unyielding, against his throat. It’s so hot in here, he’s dizzy with it, thrusting wildly into the boy on his lap. “Please, Akechi, I need it, need you, I – you’re right, I’m disgusting, just – please, don’t stop, ch-choke me, anything you want–”  
  
The cognitive Akechi lets out a peal of laughter, hollow and bell-like. “All those doe-eyed boys and girls following you around, willing to do anything for you, and you come begging for a shadow of the boy who shot you to beat you senseless until you come.” His fingers flex, just enough pressure to cut off Akira’s airways and send watercolors spilling over his vision, and yes, this is what he wanted, what he needed, yes, _yes_ – “You really are disgusting – I was right to call you trash. What do you think the world would say if they saw you like this, hmm? The valiant leader of the righteous Phantom Thieves, moaning like a cheap whore and begging to come with some boy’s hands around his throat?”  
  
But he doesn’t have to beg, not anymore. Orgasm hits him forcibly, violently, his whole body convulsing and writhing against his confines. He comes inside Akechi, so much he thinks the other boy must feel it in the back of his throat, and catches just the barest glimpse of Akechi's eyes going wide with feral delight before his own vision blacks out.  
  
When he comes to, the cognition is sitting on his chest and stroking himself off lazily, looking down at the ring of bruises with an imperious smirk. “What?” he says. Akira’s dimly aware of the feeling of his own come dripping out of Akechi’s hole and back onto his own chest; his cock gives a feeble twitch. “You really thought someone as pathetic as you could get me off better than my own hand?”  
  
And with that he comes in ropes all over Akira’s face.

 

* * *

 

“Kurusu-kun – _ah_ , Kurusu-kun, we shouldn’t…”  
  
It isn’t that Akira didn’t _enjoy_ fucking the seventh palace’s cognitive version of his boyfriend; no, he’s got the bruises and the walk of shame limp to prove it. But… well. Goro – the real Goro, that is – can be harsh, sure. They both can be, plenty of the time, and both of them more than enjoy it when things take a turn for the rougher. There’s just, uh, always plenty of kissing and touching afterwards to balance all that out. So when he finds himself sore and aching and alone on the walk back to Leblanc, he takes a detour to the courthouse.  
  
“You’re so pretty, Akechi-kun,” Akira murmurs into this Akechi’s knuckles. He kisses along them, and Akechi pinks beautifully, says something akin to their usual banter back in mid-summer. There’s something satisfying about this, now that Sae is on their side – the fact that her idea of Akechi is so much nearer to the real thing than Shido’s. It still doesn’t hit the mark, not really, doesn’t capture all the facets and layers under the scrubbed-clean schoolboy tantei-ouji charm, but at least there’s the regard.  
  
Akechi hums, lips skating up Akechi’s arm to ghost along his jaw. “Can I touch you, Akechi-kun?” he says, sincere in his sweetness. Okay, maybe he's over-doing it a little, but -- look, it's hard not play the part of the dashing debonair thief when you've got such a willing beau, right? He sucks a hickey into the skin just below Akechi’s ear just to feel him shiver. “I’ll do whatever you like, of course, but you’re so lovely, can’t keep my hands to myself…”  
  
And that’s how he ends up with his fingers carding through Akechi’s hair, one detective prince kneeling between his thighs because _oh, you’ve been so good to me, Kurusu-kun, I want to make you feel good._  
  
Well, Akira thinks distantly as Akechi nuzzles against the tent in his briefs, Sae certainly got his desire for affection down pat.  
  
Which is something Akira’s happy to cater to, especially when Akechi starts mouthing timidly at the head of his cock. “Good boy,” he says, running his hands in waves through Akechi’s hair. The encouragement goes a long way; Akechi fairly whimpers against him ( _oh-_ ), looking up with teacup eyes as he takes Akira further down. His mouth is… incredible, as always, warm and wet, and Akira can feel the ridges of his palate and the – _ah,_ suction as Akechi hollows his cheeks to suck a little harder.  
  
He moans appreciatively, fingers twisting lightly in Akechi’s hair, and Akechi mirrors the sound – whether out of an eagerness to please or a desire to have his hair pulled, Akira isn’t quite sure. Either way– “Your mouth feels perfect, Akechi-kun,” he says, breathless. “So talented, like you were made for sucking cock – but you’re good at plenty of other things, huh? Terribly clever, and beautiful too – I’m so lucky you’re here with me.”  
  
Akechi’s hands shake where they’re wrapped around Akira’s thighs. His mouth is sloppy and adoring and _perfect,_ bobbing and sucking with feverish intensity. Experimentally, Akira pushes his head down by his hair, just a little; the effect is immediate, a high moan and a glassy look upward through his eyelashes. He takes that as a good sign.  
  
“Oh, you take cock so well,” Akira marvels, fucking shallowly into Akechi’s soft and pliant mouth. “You’re so beautiful like this, Akechi-kun – so beautiful all the time, but especially like this, my hands in my hair and my dick down your throat. Such a good boy, feels so – _so_ good, _fuck_ Akechi I’m– I’m gonna–”  
  
He pulls lightly at Akechi’s hair to avoid choking him, but Akechi holds fast where he is, and _shit,_ Akira can’t help but come into the wet heat of Akechi’s mouth. Akechi, to his credit, takes it well, but can’t quite swallow all of it; a gag and a splutter has a small stream of come rolling down his chin, which Akira dutifully wipes up with his finger.  
  
(…and Akechi promptly sucks back off, dazed. Akira tries valiantly not to file that away for future jack-off material, but, well, gee. Eager to please indeed.)  
  
Gingerly, Akira pulls Akechi up onto his lap, a mess of trembling detective boy. And boy is mess the operative word here; he’s flushed cotton-candy pink and panting, eyes are glazed as anything, and Akira can already see the pre-cum stain bleeding through his work slacks. He sighs contentedly, kissing into Akechi’s hair; he’d planned to let Akechi fuck him after that, but he honestly doesn’t think he’d last long enough.  
  
“That was amazing, Akechi-kun,” he says instead, wrapping an arm around him in a snug embrace. His free hand snakes around to rub against Akechi’s thigh. “Let me return the favor?”  
  
“Kurusu-kun,” he says, still panting. He gets those teacup eyes, then, fingers threaded in Akira’s hair. “I’ve never…”  
  
Never? Oh, that’s a riot – that Sae’s idea of him goes that far into blushing virgin territory, consciously or not. They’ll be sure to have a laugh over that together when he tells…  
  
Goro. He blows a strand of hair out of his face. It really was a stupid argument; his mind keeps wandering, keeps him itching to get home and get his boyfriend something sweet to make up for time apart. Still, plenty of time for that later; for now he presses a kiss to Akechi’s mouth, chaste as you like, and starts working him over with his hand.

 

* * *

 

 

“So you fucked my cognitive double.”  
  
Choosing a make-up treat was harder than Akira originally anticipated. There was an expensive sushi date, since Goro has such a reputation among trendy Shibuya restaurants, but ultimately that was just a facet of his more polished public persona; a day spent out cycling together ran the same risks of just playing along with the Akechi Goro of the public eye, so that was best left out of the running as well. Rock-climbing, at least, seemed to be a genuine interest, but… well. Irritation at his boyfriend’s inability to keep up was the last excuse Goro needed to stay angry.  
  
So a candlelit late-night picnic in the Leblanc attic it was.  
  
At the very least, Goro didn’t sound _mad._ Not that Akira had expected him to be, exactly; they’d agreed on a degree of sexual and romantic openness towards the start of their relationship, with the agreement that at the end of the day they came home to the same bed. Well, figuratively speaking. It’s just that cognitive doubles are a sort of grey area that don’t usually come up when discussing the finer points of a future relationship, even when one of you has been moonlighting as a phantom thief and the other as an assassin in the political underworld.  
  
“Double _s_ ,” Akira corrects, because, well. No use mincing words now. Goro quirks an unimpressed brow and presses his coffee mug to his lips, contemplative.  
  
“Well, that’s certainly new,” he says. He nods to the spread around them, the red satin blanket dotted with candles and an array of homemade yakisoba, coffee, and cookies. “And this – am I to take it as an apology, then, or…?”  
  
“Not really,” Akira admits, setting his own mug aside to lean up against Goro’s shoulder. “Just missed you.”  
  
Goro sighs, just this side of content, and shifts just enough to press his head under Akira’s chin. “You’re terrible, you know,” he says. He doesn’t bother trying to keep the undercurrent of fondness out of his voice, though, which Akira takes as a good sign.  
  
He drops a line of kisses into Goro’s hair, wraps his arms around his waist. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s stupid, I just – I don’t even remember what we argued about, but I really did miss you, y'know? A day seems like nothing, but...”  
  
“Oh?” Goro teases. He snakes his head around to kiss the corner of Akira’s mouth, pulling back with just a trace of tongue. “You certainly had plenty of company.”  
  
Akira hums and pulls Goro gently into his lap, shifting to lean back against the side of his bed. “Not the same. Wasn’t you.”  
  
“Mm, flatterer.”  
  
“Just the truth.”  
  
Goro presses his forehead to Akira’s, looking down at him through his lashes, and all Akira can think is that he’s beautiful – beautiful for being cast in candlelight, beautiful for being a warm and real weight in his lap, beautiful for being _Goro_ in a way that no one else is or ever could be. “Then why don’t you show me?”  
  
So he does.  
  
Akira cups Goro’s face in his hands and pulls him down for a kiss, and another, another – in equal measures tender and desperate, marveling in how wet and warm and _real_ the slide of Goro’s mouth against his own is. Just the slightest graze of Goro’s teeth against his lip has him gasping; with a dreamy sigh, he slides his hands down over Goro’s shoulders and chest, taking his time to feel every detail molded beneath him. God, he is… really smitten, isn’t he.  
  
“Someone’s awful excited, considering how much activity he’s had today,” Goro says after a moment. He’s as alluring as he’s trying to be, lips bruising and face flushed full of loose curls, and Akira takes the opportunity to switch their positions, lifting the two of them up on his bed and settling on top of Goro’s splayed frame.  
  
“Can’t help it.” He tugs Goro’s hair just enough to expose the arch of that pretty neck, presses a bruising kiss there and bites down. He wants to distill the moan brewing low in Goro’s throat and snort it raw. “Need you.”  
  
Goro’s hands thread into Akira’s hair and _tug_ , hard, and Akira fairly keens. “Say,” he says as they fumble to undress each other, “what was it like, fucking either of my doubles?” Akira ducks to take a pink nipple into his mouth as Goro falls out of his button-up, and Goro gasps loudly, says “I’m serious,” even as Akira swirls his tongue around the nub.  
  
“Hmm.” He releases Goro’s nipple with a wet _pop_ and reaches into his bedside table for the lube, slathering a generous amount onto his fingers and shifting onto his knees as he considers how to answer. “The… seventh palace’s cognition was, uh, harsh. Tied my hands, called me trash and that sort of thing, hit me with a crop…”  
  
Goro’s eyes darken as he sits up, pressing a trail of deep kisses into Akira’s neck. The finger Akira’s sliding glacier-slow into himself falters, both in surprise and embarrassment; apparently it’s one thing to have your boyfriend’s cognitive doppelganger beat you to shit and verbally spit on your for your own sexual pleasure and quite another to recount it to said boyfriend over dinner later. You learn something new everyday.  
  
Not that this counts as dinner anymore, he supposes. He’d laugh if Goro wasn’t still kissing his neck, those clever hands running down to squeeze his hips. “And the other?”  
  
“Extremely sweet.” He sighs a little and starts to ease another finger into himself. “Very, ah… eager to please.”  
  
“Such coquet,” Goro admonishes. He’s bluffing; there’s pink blooming under his cheeks at the description already.  
  
Which, of course, only serves to spur Akira on. “He begged to suck me off in the middle of the casino then came crying in my lap while I told him what a good boy he was.”  
  
“You’re exaggerating.”  
  
“Barely.”  
  
Goro laughs and snags the bottle of lube off the bed, stroking himself slick while Akira leans back to watch, not bothering to hide his delight. Maybe Goro was right to call him overeager, before, but he can’t help it; watching his boyfriend’s hand wrap around his own dick reminds him pointedly of how empty he feels upon the withdrawal of his fingers, how he’s been messing around all day but has yet to _really_ have sex with his boyfriend.  
  
Well. Good things come and all that.  
  
Goro clears his throat, looks up at Akira with a tilt of his head. “Are you ready to make things up to me?” His voice is low, teasing, and Akira knows he’s being made fun of but God if he doesn’t want to just come on the spot. He shifts and gives a slow, languid roll of his hips – more to tempt Goro than to adjust his postion – and sinks down with a swift push.  
  
There’s a moment of adjustment where he can _feel_ the flush creeping up his body more than anything else, a faint ringing in his ears and a cotton-candy warmth winding around his thighs all grounded by the feeling of Goro’s hands on his hips, the shuddering sound that spills from Goro’s throat. The sound of their breathing, the both of them gasping into the silence, and then Akira is lifting shakily onto his knees and Goro is scrambling up to kiss him. Akira touches Goro’s face only for Goro to take Akira’s hands, kissing them almost reverently as Akira begins to move.  
  
“I’m sorry too,” Goro gasps out. Against Akira’s mouth, now, between kisses, bodies sweat-slick and molding together at every possible interval. “The argument – silly, shouldn’t have – I wanted to rile you up, it was petty, I’m–”  
  
Akira laughs, breathless and confused, scrabbles for Goro’s hand so he can thread their fingers together. “Normal,” he says, kissing all over his face. It’s silly and juvenile, but – well, _he’s_ silly and juvenile, can be when he's like this, and he feels so full and incredible with Goro inside him, like he’s going to burst, and, and – “That’s normal, I’m sorry I, _ah_ , went and messed around without you, it was stupid, they’re not you, I – I love you, and–”  
  
Goro groans and flips them a fluid movement, and suddenly Akira’s splayed on his back, eyes glassy, cheeks red, hips riding back almost instinctively onto Goro’s cock. “I love you too,” he says. He’s thrusting feverishly, desperately, Akira’s legs locked around his back; the entirety of the attic is filled with the noise of it, the loud and lewd and wet sounds of Akira’s body fervently taking him in. “Akira. Akira – so pretty like this, Akira–”  
  
Akira tries time and time again to keep a hold on coherent thought only for it to consistently slip through his fingers; all he can process is the way his hands scramble through Goro’s hair, down his back, the way Goro feels as he pulls out only to fill him right back up again. Not for the first time does he thank God that Sojiro lives down the street and not downstairs; that’s not a conversation he’s interested in having today, and he’s not sure either of them could keep the volume down if they wanted to.  
  
“You’re so good, Goro,” he slurs into Goro’s ear. Goro gasps; the kisses he presses into Akira’s neck are even more feverish than before. He’s dimly aware of a bit of drool rolling down his chin. “Feel incredible filling me up, such a g-good boy – _hnn_ , love you so much, I – fuck, don’t – don’t stop, fuck, _Goro_ , oh god–”  
  
“I won’t – can’t, Akira– _Akira_ –!”  
  
His hand skates up to Goro’s jaw, guides Goro’s mouth to his in a messy kiss, and that’s it, really – Goro’s orgasm hits in a wave, sends him rocking so violently against Akira that the bed creaks and shakes, and the feeling of Goro’s warm come shooting inside him has Akira’s back arching off the bed and his own come splattering over his chest. It takes a few moments, and then they’re lying in a heap beside each other, gasping for breath and limbs entangled.  
  
“Akira…” Goro says, still half-dazed. Akira tugs him closer, butterflying kisses down from his forehead to his mouth. Goro hums and threads their fingers together, presses his mouth to Akira’s palm. “I don’t know if I should apologize or offer to initiate arguments more often.”  
  
Akira rolls his eyes good-naturedly, too dopey from endorphins to keep the smile off his face. “We could always skip that part and go straight to me having sex with your psi-clones.”  
  
Goro hits him with a pillow.  
  
They fall asleep in each other’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> hi hmu on twitter [@winnerstick](https://twitter.com/winnerstick) or on tumblr [@traversetown](http://traversetown.tumblr.com/) for when my current friends realize i wrote this and banish me


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